


eve's anatomy

by jodielouie



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Villaneve, alternative universe, cristina yang is eve polastri, greys anatomy references, it's getting progressively gayer i promise, villaneve au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:36:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jodielouie/pseuds/jodielouie
Summary: "Eve Polastri," Villanelle says, looking down at the name tag."Yes," Cristina frowns."Eve," the woman repeats, amazed, "it suits you."Cristina feels unable to read her, as she sits almost naked in that armchair, but she feels empathy for her. Maybe empathy wouldn't be the best word to describe it, but a sense of respect of some sort. Either that woman is an extremely strong asshole who is in trouble or just simply an exceptional neuroatypical case. Either way, she can't stop observing her.Villaneve AU where Cristina Yang and Eve Polastri are the same but Villanelle is still a little shit, especially as a pacient (spoiler: it's gay).
Relationships: Eve Polastri & Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/Cristina Yang
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	eve's anatomy

_No._

_No._

**_NO._ **

At first, Cristina doesn't react. But as soon as she remembers what that text message means, she throws her phone on her white coat's pocket and rushes down the corridor of the hospital's administration section towards the elevator. She presses the up button several times, ignoring people's stare at her anxiousness.

She bites her lip, perhaps too strong. 

_Fuck this shit._

She runs toward the stairs and climbs all three floors in a heartbeat. When she finally gets to the permanence floor, she's too tired. She defeatedly and ridiculously walks to the room where all her colleagues are usually resting. Or flirting. Or some shit like that.

Panting, she opens the door, eyes bulging as if waiting for the confirmation of the worst news of all.

_Shit._

"Did we lose?" she says.

Meredith, who is sitting desolated on the couch, raises her head unwillingly to mumble. "Yes."

"For fuck's sake," Cristina puts her hands on her hip, trying to regain her breath. She walks towards Meredith and throws herself on the couch next to her. "I needed it tonight."

"Me too."

The two defeated doctors observe as the other two doctors in front of them cheer and dance away their victory at this stupid bet. Cristina and Meredith were so sure that Mrs. Stowton was pregnant with a girl, but it turns out that Callie and Arizona guessed it better.

Cristina meant it. She was excited to have this night to herself. This has been an exhausting week. She daydreamed all day about her bathtub and a bottle of wine, and-

Now they're spending the night stuck in the hospital covering for them.

"I hate them," she says, and Meredith hums in agreement.

\---

"OK. Callie or Arizona?"

Cristina gives Meredith a look. They're both being lazy on the couch eating chips because tonight happens to be the most tedious night shift they've ever had. The hospital is as quiet and peaceful as a fucking cemetery. 

It doesn't mean that Cristina loves when people get hurt, but perhaps it does. 

"Damn," Cristina gets comfortable on her seat, "I've never thought of it."

Meredith gives her a look back. "Never?"

"No, Meredith," she snaps, "nothing wrong with girls, but vaginas aren't my favorite."

They stare at each other for a while. It doesn't take too long until they both start chuckling. 

"Arizona, for sure."

Meredith raises her brows suggestively at the new information. She's ready to make her choose between Arizona and Jo, but their bubble of unpretentious giggles gets interrupted by a breathless intern. There's no need for him to say anything because their pagers start to go wild before he even opens his mouth.

Cristina's heart beats faster with the rush of adrenaline and the tiniest of smirks curves her lips.

\---

Only one major trauma.

Ugh, no luck this time.

A woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with multiple stabs on her stomach. An oddly case considering the amounts of stabbing in the hearts that have been happening around this week, as Cristina researched, which none of them left the victims a chance to get to the hospital. Meredith eagerly takes care of the situation, along with other eager interns, so Cristina is left with being ready to be called only if needed.

She, with her hands on her white coat pockets, roams around and lowkey wishes to hear her pager beep at any time. Is it stupid to crave for work when she is completely tired and finally has a break? She stops. Maybe she should rest, she knows in her heart that her pager won't beep at any time. That poor woman is far doomed.

She disciplines her mind to think about ways to relax, but there's Owen, there's always Owen. Their marriage is broken for months now. It is tricky to recognize when love runs out because it can mean so many things, particularly that you're not trying hard enough and-

Ugh, don't even get started on his new obsession with growing a red-haired mustache and riding bikes. Since then, Cristina feels in her bones that their magic is dead. She can't even remember the last time she felt sexually attracted to her husband. That is simply wrong. And to be honest, thinking about this, again and again, is tiring and time-consuming and-

She gets to the post-op rooms and doesn't even remember the path she took to get here. Being lost physically, mentally, and emotionally just won't do it. She needs a nap, she needs to get back to-

Her sense of reality is brought back abruptly when a sweaty hand covers her mouth and a cold piece of broken plastic points against her throat from behind. Her first instinct is to try and scream, but there's too much strength in that aggressor.

"Quiet," she hears a feminine whisper on her ear and a closer taste of the piece of plastic against her skin, "or I'll do something that you won't like."

Cristina frowns and yet tries to fight back and mumble something, making the woman behind her laugh.

"Squealer," she says, skillfully leading them both inside the closest empty room nearby. 

She pushes Cristina on the ground and quickly but quietly closes the door behind them. "I need your clothes," the woman says, breathless. "And I need you to tell me how to get out of here."

Only then Cristina realizes the strong Russian accent and all sort of things goes through her mind. She gathers all the strength she has to finally get up and face whoever is threatening her. And when she does turn around, it isn't at all what she expected.

A young blonde patient with a few bruises on her forehead, and delicate features opposing completely to what she had in mind for a second. She's clearly weak and way too pale to be able to be standing and fighting someone else. 

Cristina respects that somehow.

"Alrighttt," the patient says with a witty smile, realizing to be under Cristina's gaze. She loosens her posture and puts one of her hands on the pocket of her blue patient gown, looking somewhat flattered "well, you're pretty too, you know."

Cristina frowns, confused, and doesn't react to the sudden seductive smile, so the patient raises her brows in response, clearly offended by her lack of interest. And it feels completely accurate because she does look like a piece of fine art, despite all the almost dying appearance right now.

"Y-you're injured," Cristina manages to say, "you can't leave the hospital."

The patient laughs and doesn't mean it.

"Hm, _really?"_

She aggressively takes a step forward, making Cristina take two steps back at the same second.

"Please," Cristina begs, trying her best to sound put together, "I mean it the best way-"

"I said," the patient says and takes another step forward, pointing the piece of broken and sharp plastic to her again, _"give me your clothes."_

Cristina tries to think of her options. _Think, think, think._ She could try to reach her pager, but it would be too obvious. And what for? As far as she knows, the woman is only asking for clothes and direction. She probably won't hurt her, she's probably in trouble to be acting like that.

_Right?_

Honestly, she has lived enough traumas inside this building and it is starting to get trivial.

"If you're in trouble, I can help you," she tries. "You have no idea how often unfortunate events happen here. If there's someone after you, I can call the police. Just please, don't leave the hospital. That would be really dumb."

The other woman starts laughing dramatically and puts the piece of plastic down. "You're gonna help me? _You?_ I can taste my _blood_ in my mouth and still I just kicked your ass."

It feels weird to be humiliated this way when you're a brilliant cardio surgeon. Rude, yes.

"Aw, you're cute," she pouts and then points the plastic towards her again with her brows raised. "Your clothes. I won't ask again."

Having someone pointing a piece of something at her like that triggers her brain into thinking about all of the bad shit that has happened before. It is far from being a happy feeling. Her trembling hands find the buttons of her white coat and she begins to undress. "Can you...Hm-"

"Turn around?" 

"Y-yes."

The patient makes an expression as if Cristina was stupid, "No?"

Guess she deserved it. 

"OK."

Cristina obeys and starts undressing, putting the pieces of clothes one by one on top of the hospital bed next to them and not daring to break eye contact with that psycho. The moment is so intense and quiet that it becomes loud. There's a desire in the other woman's gaze and it is brand new information to Cristina's system. 

"You have a nice body," she finally states when Cristina is only in her underwear. 

Cristina feels slightly embarrassed. 

_What the fuck?_

"Your necklace is nice too," she dramatically reasons, and Cristina rolls her eyes internally. She takes off the necklace and puts it along with literally all of her clothes and shoes.

"Sit there."

Cristina obeys and crosses her arms around her semi-naked body as an attempt to feel protected somehow. She sits in the room's armchair in slow motion, completely harmless. The other woman starts putting Cristina's clothes on and-

Wait.

She had taken an intern's white coat by mistake in the rush of the stabbing trauma annunciation a while ago because when that woman puts it on, it doesn't say Cristina Yang on her name tag. She has never taken another coat by mistake before, which feels like a divine intervention given the present circumstance. She thinks of visiting the hospital's chapel when all of this is over.

_God, Universe, whatever. Let it be over soon. FFS. Amen._

"Eve Polastri," the woman says, looking down at the name tag. 

"Yes," she frowns.

 _"Eve,"_ the woman repeats, amazed, "it suits you."

Cristina feels unable to read her, as she sits almost naked in that armchair, but she feels empathy for her. Maybe empathy wouldn't be the best word to describe it, but a sense of respect of some sort. Either that woman is an extremely strong asshole who is in trouble or just simply an exceptional neuroatypical case. Either way, she can't stop observing her.

All the concern wouldn't be enough.

"What is yours?"

"What?"

"Your name," she says weakly, almost whispering.

The blonde woman smiles and opens her mouth to respond, but she frowns and pain is visible in her expression suddenly after that and she feels the need to lean against the wall next to her. It's weird, but Cristina naturally feels a glimpse of worry at the same second, because after all, she's a patient.

"OK," she cries, she presses her hand against her stomach, trying to calm herself down, "how do I get the fuck out of here?"

"I'm sorry," Cristina gets up, "you're going to pass out if you don't let me take care of you-"

"I fell awesome-"

And she passes out.

_Shit._

**Author's Note:**

> should i keep writing it? should i have never written it? the world is so big and i have so many questions


End file.
